


Verbatim

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Drabble Challenges [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, dark!fic, drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one's going to save you, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verbatim

**Author's Note:**

> Challenged by: Unkissed The Challenge: 500 words or less, dark-fic or crack-fic or dark crack-fic, any fandom. Prompts: guns, handcuffs, snitch, irresistible, poison.
> 
> Sorry, Scorpius. ;)

>  

You wake up with a shiver that hurts more than you think it should. Every nerve you possess is pulsing with a dull pain and when you attempt to move, you quickly realize that you are restrained. When your eyes crack open it is with effort because your lashes are glued together with something like blood. It only takes you a moment to remember exactly where you are and how you got here and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach hurts worse than any amount of physical pain you have endured. 

 “Welcome back, sleepy head.” The voice in your ear draws an involuntary convulsion from you and despite your very best efforts a bleak whimper escapes you. 

 “Are you gonna cry? You’re so pretty when you cry.” The voice is still there in your ear, dissolving every other thought in your head like poison.

You bite a bruised lip and stifle a whimper; you are  **not** going to cry.

Fingertips brush through strands of your hair and blunt nails scrape against your scalp and when you flinch, the voice melts into satisfied laughter. “No one’s gonna save you, pretty.” The words are strung together between the softest laughter that tickles your ear and your eyes squeeze shut. “No one’s going to save you, either.” Your own words are spoken between grit teeth and your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

 More laughter. 

 “Save me from what? I’ve got the gun, remember?” The barrel of a gun presses firmly against your cheek, as if to remind you. You whisper, “fuck you” quietly and ignore the way flat steel cuts into your wrists like handcuffs. 

 The voice is right; no one is coming to save you. 

 Twenty-four hours ago you were watching Albus and his band on a stage somewhere in eastern America and now you were a lost and broken boy at the hands of some crazed fan. You had abandoned the backstage area in favor of a spot right in front like you were fifteen all over again, and you hadn’t even felt the stick of a needle in the back of your arm. Didn’t even put up a fight when you were escorted through the crowd. Didn’t even realize that you were being pushed into the back of a muggle automobile until it was too late. 

 “Shall we make a call? Let’s make a call.” The mobile is yours and Albus is one of the few numbers you have on speed dial. 

He answers after only a ring and you would like to find humor in that fact because Albus never answers his phone at all. “Scorpius?” His voice sounds ragged and sleep deprived on the small speaker and when you open your mouth to reply the gun is shoved between your teeth so firmly that it makes you gag. The sound that comes out of your throat is a garbled whimper that makes Albus’ hair stand up on the back of his neck. A moment later that sound is replaced by the smooth crack of gunfire that makes him jump on the other end of the line. “Scorpius?” He says again, and you are saved from hearing the panic in his voice; saved from everything without ever being found.


End file.
